Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8

by Jacob Falling

  “This is the sea, Highness,” Falburn said. “We’re ‘nae in the Northlands, nor in any high castle in the mountains. No matter this ship’s port of call, at sea anything’s law.”

  Hafgrim grew silent, nodding, and he wiped his brow with the back of his glove.

  Such a comment would have unleashed him once, Adria thought. Perhaps he truly will learn from this journey. The small tufts of hair which escaped his arming cap had already sweat-stained from blonde to brown.

  Still, nodding once again to himself, and with a grim face, he donned his helm. The opening showed only his eyes, and a line from them down through the middle of his mouth and chin. He turned and rose to face the ship across the distance. He was still for some time, finally reconciled. His plume and cloak rippled their father’s colors, and he wore them well.

  Adria smiled faintly, and her eyes wandered, and saw her own smile mirrored on the face of Emoni, who watched her brother with similar interest, but shifted this to Adria in another instant, without a change of expression. Their eyes held for some time, without any real will, any real understanding or sympathy. They simply held.

  Adria used the strange moment to focus and center herself. Her breath deepened, her thoughts stilled, and her eyes unfocused. And in just that moment, the young girl’s silhouette appeared beneath her robes, as if cast in shadow. And her skin shone for a moment, and then deepened into the substance of water, or of fog, or of smoke. Adria was calm enough not to startle, and the vision held.

  She has no... spirit, Adria wondered, but then realized this was not quite so... And even with this realization, Emoni’s silhouette seemed to bend, as if the tide of fog and water shifted, or its smoke found new wind. She might have been something else then but a girl, something like the memory of a girl — the web of her life stretched away from her luminous half-form, into the distance, into the sea and across the horizon.

  How strange... It is not that she has no spirit... it is almost as if she is only spirit. Something... Adria blinked. ...like a ghost.

  Adria blinked several times, then, slowly, and her vision normalized, and Emoni returned, seemingly as human as before. She raised her arm, with cunning grace, and her fingers brushed a few strands of hair from the corner of her lips.

  And the girl blinked, for the first time Adria could remember since they had watched each other. She blinked as if the slightest or the greatest of her actions were only affectations, adopted purely out of distraction rather than necessity.

  And how do I seem to her? Adria wondered.

  And suddenly she felt naked, an Aeman princess bathing among a dozen Aesidhe children. Her stomach swam with the motions of the ship upon the water, and her hands, of their own accord, moved to her abdomen to steady herself.

  Emoni laughed then, slight bells in a cool spring wind, and mercifully looked away. Embarrassed, Adria glanced around the sterncastle at the others, but no one seemed to have noticed any of this.

  Adria looked down at the bundled bow on the planks before her to center herself, and the sensations of uneasiness subsided.

  As they ran, Adria was so consumed by her second thoughts that she did not sense that anything had changed until Mateko grasped his bow and an arrow, stopped, and turned to take aim. She reflexively dove to the side and found cover as she drew her blade.

  Trailing behind them, a shape moved among the shadows, larger than an Aesidhe, but not as substantial as a bear. She glanced aside at Mateko, who hid behind a similar tree, and then over her shoulder. The other Runners had gone on, not yet noticing that she and Mateko had stopped.

  Strange, she thought, and then realized that, perhaps because of her hesitations, she had been lingering a little behind the rest. Mateko had fallen back, to keep her company or to help her keep the pace. They had not exchanged words on the journey, conserving breath, and the Runners had not yet stopped to take a rest.

  What is it? They both signaled simultaneously, then smiled in the dim light beneath the canopy. They both turned to go separate directions, to put distance between them and keep from being surrounded if there were many enemies, or to gain an advantage on a few.

  “That is unnecessary,” a voice assured them in Aesidhe, now rather closer than it should likely be. “I am alone and without weapons.”

  Adria and Mateko exchanged an anxious glance, and then recognized the voice.

  “Tabashi.” Adria broke cover and raised her hands out to either side, though she did not yet sheathe her blade. The Moresidhe walked toward them, now only a dozen yards distant.

  “You have asked for me...” he said in Aeman. “Yet still you would raise your steel.”

  “I remember what little use my blade was against you, Tabashi,” she said, a bit breathless. “It is small comfort.”

  “But you were a child then, scion. Were you not?”

  “I was more a child than I am now,” she agreed, speaking for Mateko’s benefit. “I confess that I had forgotten about our meeting, Moresidhe. I apologize if I am late.”

  He still gave no acknowledgment of the humor. “Perhaps, then, you have no need of my words.”

  By now, Mateko had also revealed himself, though he also kept his weapon half-ready, scanning about for others, and kept some distance between himself and Adria. Tabashi appeared to take no offense at the distrust.

  “The stars brighten the hills,” he said, an old and formal Aesidhe greeting, and nodded once to Mateko.

  “You have come with enemies before,” Mateko said flatly. “And we are in the time of war.”

  “The enemies you speak of are now family,” Tabashi responded. “While we speak, some among them follow Watelomoksho to the very war you run from on the banks of the river at Palmill. The wheel turns.”

  A great wheel turning, burning… Adria knew. Remembered. Saw.

  She blinked the image from her mind.

  “We fall behind,” Mateko said simply, though it was not clear to whom. His eyes still did not meet Tabashi’s.

  “If you have words to offer, then please do so,” Adria hesitated. “Mateko speaks the truth. We have little time.”

  “Time is like the river.” Tabashi said. “It is always flowing, but not always at the same speed, not always with the same force. And although it is easier and mostly wiser to float upon the river, still we may stretch our arms and swim towards our sea with even greater speed. Or we can turn away, and swim against our currents, to slow the pace and see more clearly the shores we wander past.”

  And while he spoke, repeating almost what Preinon had told her seasons before, much of the anxiety and fear that had been building since she had first met Tabashi nearly overcame her. Her blade was shaking where her hand trembled. Visions, memories, dreams cascaded through and around her.

  I am holding my breath…

  And then she closed her eyes, only a moment, and she exhaled. When she opened her eyes again, her vision widened, and the world around her slowed. She stood in the calm at the center of it. She and Tabashi alone.

  “I dream of drowning.” Adria whispered. “Do you know my dreams, Watemezi?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “But your dreams are not yours alone. The waking or the sleeping. I know how these are given to you. I know how these are shared.”

  “Is it all decided?” She turned her head slowly. Mateko was trying to speak nearby, but his lips were slow to form the words.

  She looked back to Tabashi, but he moved normally. He sighed, and rested his hands upon the ground, lowering himself to a sitting position, and blinked, twice.

  “Why does this happen?” Adria asked. “This... tainábe?”

  Tabashi smiled a little, and even in the dim, at a distance, she could read the lines of his face clearly with only the slightest of motions.

  “Scion... it is simply what it means to be you,” he answered.

  She bit her lip,
nodded slightly, then sheathed her weapon as she approached him to sit.

  “It... doesn’t feel like before,” she said, unsure of her exact meaning.

  “It is a dream you share,” he said. “It is your gift, but there are those who know how to… deepen it.”

  “But there is a cost.”

  He frowned. “Like your limbs fighting the current. You will tire, and, yes… you can drown.”

  “Like…” Adria sighed, nodded in revelation. “Like my father.”

  “You asked if it has been decided.” He reached both of his hands into his pockets, then pulled them out again, balled into fists, and offered them to her. “Choose.”

  “Does it matter?” she asked, smiling a little.

  “Choose and see,” he shrugged. It seemed a strange motion for him to make.

  She glanced over her shoulder, where Mateko had finished a word, perhaps, and had turned his head only part of the way to try to follow them. But she could not detect any motion in him now. Turning back, she pointed to Tabashi’s slate-gray right hand.

  He turned his fist over and opened it to reveal a coin, one of her father’s gold Crowns, upon his palm.

  “I’ve won,” Adria sighed. “But I assume there is a lesson in this. You knew I would choose this hand?”

  “Is that what you believe, Idonea?”

  He calls me by my family name? Adria sighed. But then, I called him Watemezi.

  Still, Adria nodded. “You have watched me. You repeat the lessons of my teachers. You share this dream of Tainábe with me. Yes… you knew what I would choose.”

  Tabashi opened his other palm, revealing an identical coin within.

  Adria smiled. “Another lesson, then... another riddle.”

  He said nothing. She looked back to Mateko, whose eyes had still not found her. She looked up, and the trees felt no wind, though beyond them, somehow, the stars seemed to turn too fast. But when she blinked, they found their place again, in stillness. They repeated this several times, as she blinked, and she could not begin to understand.

  And a raven, waiting to call. Again.

  Wait for the call… Once more for the crows. Ashes, ashes, they all fall…

  “You play both sides,” she ventured as she turned back to Tabashi. “You win, no matter which direction I take, which hand is chosen. If I follow the Runners, you know the result, and have something to gain. If I follow Preinon... the same.”

  Still, he said nothing, but seemed to enjoy watching her as she thought, as she spoke. She found herself looking at the raven again, the stars, and then at Mateko, who had at last nearly found her. When he found her, she knew, the crow would call. Tabashi would be gone, and the dream would be over.

  How do I know that? She wondered.

  “Perhaps you know your own limits,” Tabashi said.

  She turned back on him. “You do hear my thoughts.”

  He blinked both pairs of eyelids. “You were speaking aloud.”

  Adria couldn’t remember. “Do you have anything else to tell me, Watemezi?”

  “I have a story,” he nodded. “A story of two brothers. When King Ebenhardt of Heiland marched against Duke Preinon, the duke was indeed betrayed by his lieutenant. This lieutenant accused his duke of consorting with the Wilding, and the King’s Knights and Sisterhood came for him. But they did not surprise him. That is not how they won.”

  Adria swallowed.

  “To ensure victory for the king, and for Matron Taber who marched beside him, the lieutenant and knights loyal to him kidnapped the betrothed of Duke Preinon.”

  Adria tried not to show her surprise. How could he not have told me this...? Even in his reluctance... How could I not somehow know?

  The Moresidhe continued, uncharacteristically quickly. “King Ebenhardt offered her life in exchange for Preinon’s surrender of his lands and title. The Duke gave his word, but nonetheless managed to affect his escape, hoping his brother would hold to his word, as well. But in time, the lady was dead, and Duke Preinon’s armies scattered, his lands forfeit.

  “When the Duke learned of her death, anger overcame him. Though he kept his promise, and did not again claim his title or his lands. He took shelter with the Aesidhe, and he served his new People in their plight to survive against those he had once known as kinsmen.

  “But many who know him wonder. Does he only wait for a chance at vengeance? Does he still look for some moment and some way to strike back at his brother?”

  “It is his name,” Adria whispered. “Watelomoksho.”

  “Just as Shísha named him,” Tabashi smiled, just the smallest bit. “And then one day he followed the White Wolf into the borderlands, and found the answer to his prayers.”

  “Revenge...” Adria whispered. I have helped him to this end? She swallowed, nodding, as realization arose and tears came to her eyes. “He has not protected me... I have protected him.”

  The wheel of stars, Mateko... Wait for the crowing.

  “I thought by leaving him tonight, I was defying him,” she said. “But in truth I am only...”

  “There is only one ocean, Idonea. But there many, many rivers. And the ocean is changed by the greatest river, the smallest stream, and every single drop of rain,” Tabashi said. “Will you run with the young Aesidhe man you have come to love, and secure your future with his People, though it may yet endanger them further?”

  Adria glanced behind.

  Tabashi commanded her attention. “Or... will you return to Duke Preinon, in time for the battle, and risk yourself to balance the game that was set in motion the moment you followed his ghost... even the moment he became one?”

  “Would I leave the People to save them?” she frowned, shaking her head. Her heart was racing, her head pounding.

  “The river cannot be changed without a price,” he nodded, rising slowly to his feet. “Many lie dead, a boy burned, and an heir to Heiland scarred because I saw I had to harm the People for any hope of saving them.”

  Adria touched the old wound on her chest reflexively. “A coin in both palms.”

  “When we can afford it, yes,” He nodded. And he turned and moved away in a blur of speed, like the wheeling of stars, and with the calling of a crow, his final words lingered. “After all, I am only a merchant.”

  Adria knew that Mateko could not understand what had happened, but instead of asking his questions, he only put his hand on her shoulder.

  “Lilene... are you well?” he asked, and the simple concern in his voice took her breath away. She closed her eyes to still the pounding in her head a little, then took his hand as she rose and turned to him, resolved. Already, she was crying.

  He looked from her face to where Tabashi had been, and then back, and started to speak, but she shook her head quickly.

  “Please do not speak, Mateko. I would speak my turn.”

  He nodded, and calmed himself, and she took both his hands in hers. The crow called again.

  Not much time…

  “Zho chóko zazhuwe, Mateko… I love you,” she began, but her voice already betrayed another emotion. “And I am certain that you love me. But... I cannot marry you. I have made a promise to return to my brother, to return to Windberth. I do not know when it will happen, but... I have made an oath, and it must be kept. And I... I begin to see now that perhaps I have a responsibility to the people of my birth as I do the People I would choose. I cannot be divided, as they are, as we are. I must go and...”

  “What did Watemezi tell you?” he asked, when her words failed. He was not angry, as she worried he might be. He was sad, but not angry.

  She nodded. “He told me what wounds my uncle has to heal, and I believe that they are also mine.”

  After a moment, Mateko nodded. “I understand.”

  “I know that you do, Mateko,” she admitted. “I have to go back. You unde
rstand better than I, better than Watelomoksho. A heart of fire… might burn the forest for the sake of one tree.”

  He swallowed, nodding again. “You run with us, even as you run to him. You are a Healer as well as a Hunter. You follow the White Wolf, Púksha, and I believe in you.”

  She stepped forward, leaned in and embraced him, and placed a kiss upon his lips, lingering there for just a moment.

  In another moment he was gone, having spared her the first turning away, and it was more forgiveness than she could have hoped for, to have wounded him with an arrow, instead of offering him the one he had once given her.

  The enemy galley paced its rowers with a single large kettle drum, and as the beat grew steadily louder, the tension aboard The Echo rose to match. Captain Falburn turned his eyes astern more and more often, and finally shook his head, resigned, and called both Josson and Captain Wolt to the helm.

  “They’re near a stone’s throw away. Nothing in the sea nor the wind apart from a bolt from the blue straight down their mast is going to save us from a fight.”

  The two men before him nodded. Their faces, though resigned, seemed to welcome the message, and Adria could not blame them. The waiting is often worse than the happening.

  Falburn continued, “Once they shoot, we’ll turn and sail into them. The quicker we close the distance, the fewer shots they get in. It’s a powerful weapon, but it’s slow to take its aim, and it’ll nae shoot too close to itself.”

  “Aye,” Josson nodded. Nonetheless, Falburn went on, likely more for the benefit of Wolt.

  “When we get in range of our bows, I’ll turn to give us all an even reach. If we scare ‘em enough with arrows, they may turn about.”

  “And if not?” Wolt ventured.